Switchblade Revised
by Liquid Silver1
Summary: An almost completely different plotline, no more super Shinji. m/s pairing. please read and review.


Switch-blade  
  
Chapter 1: A Hero  
  
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INTRODUCTION! READ! IMPORTANT!  
  
Alright, after Worldmage's review, I decided to completely revise Switch- blade. I kept some of the descriptions, and some of the plot points, but eliminated Shinji the super-hero, and Slutty Misato. The whole first paragraph is the same, except for some mistakes that I fixed. It starts changing in the second paragraph, by half-way through it's completely different. Thanks for having patience with me, I hope you like it  
  
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The heat outside was exhausting. You felt as if you were being drained of energy just by occupying space. This feeling was normal for a hot summer day. The problem was, it was a winter night. That's correct; it was an ordinary, everyday, winter night in post-second-impact Japan. Crowded streets led to equally crowded bars and restaurants. Giant masses of humanity attempting to find some release after an exhausting days work. One particular woman, however, saw a way around. A young dark-haired woman with purple highlights and violet eyes decided she had had enough of the human traffic, and attempted to take a shortcut. Turning into a side alley she began to power-walk down the dark catacomb to the neon lights on the other side.  
  
"Ha ha! Chalk one up for Katsuragi!" The woman exclaimed as she saw her intended destination on the other side. It was a mediocre bar, nothing special. She would have gone to a nicer place, but she was too tired to go all the way home and change. In fact, she was still wearing her NERV uniform. That was ok though, she wasn't looking to find her soul mate tonight; just the comfort of someone to share your loneliness with. She remembered a line from a song long past, "Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone!" She supposed in some odd depressing way it was the truth. - - - - - - - - - -  
  
A switchblade; it can be a useful tool, used for picking locks, whittling wood, and cutting rope. It can be a show item, brandished in front of the eyes of 11-year old boys, showing the wonders of control. It can also, however, be a weapon. A weapon used for taking something as precious as life; the hidden thief that pops out of the night to spill the blood of his unfortunate victim. It was this function that would be called upon tonight.  
  
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A sliver of light refracted off the blade. It was almost blinding if you looked directly into it. The metal seemed to add a bit of its own energy to the mass of photons the light emitted. It gave one a feeling of power, this man held a tool in his hand that could completely alter a person's life. . . for the worse. A smirk crossed his dirty face as he saw the woman coming. She had made an ignorant mistake, and she was going to pay for it. . .  
  
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The boy saw the woman walk down the alley. He knew she had made a mistake. Alleys like the one she had chosen to pass through were prime hangouts for punks, thugs, and petty thieves. Shinji knew he had to do something; he couldn't do what everyone else did and just ignore it. He didn't think it was right. If you could do something to help someone, you should do it. So Shinji turned to follow her. He wasn't quite sure what he thought he could do. He was a fairly scrawny boy, not large in any respect. If there were thugs around he didn't think he'd be able to do much, maybe he could get help before anything happened? It didn't really matter, as long as he tried. He first became aware of the man because of the blade. He saw a small glint of intense light coming out of the shadows. He recognized this as the reflection created by a metal object. When he saw the man step out of the shadows, ready to take his prey, he knew that he HAD to do something. He had heard about this kind of punk, they didn't take hostages. Most would hold a knife to your throat and threaten to kill you if you didn't hand over your belongings. This kind of thug, however, didn't wait, they just killed. They were at the very end of their rope, alcoholics who didn't care about life anymore, all they wanted was the half- aware state induced by the wonder drug. He had an unkempt beard which hadn't been washed in a year. An equally disgusting mustache grew on the bridge which ran under his nose and above his mouth. His face was black, but it wasn't his skin color. The soot and dirt had completely covered his skin; his Japanese heritage could now only be derived from his eyes. They looked like two white streaks in a sea of black. Shinji tore his focus away from the man's eyes and found a new focal point, the switch-blade. . .  
  
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Misato barely had time to react as the man jumped out of the shadows. His hand was raised up in the air, like a cobra ready strike. The knife which would drain her life-blood away was positioned in a perfect staging area to complete an arch and slice directly across her neck. Her military reflexes saved her. As she jumped back the knife came swishing down past her, cutting away one of the top buttons on her blouse. The man immediately pulled his arm backwards at the hip, ready to jab it straight into her abdomen.  
  
Misato shut her eyes tightly, giving in to the ridiculous instinct that everyone seems to have; some naïve notion that you can avoid all pain by simply denying that it's there. When a minute passed without pain, she reluctantly opened her eyes. There he was, a young boy about the age of 15, standing there with a knife in his arm. The man was standing next to him, looking bewildered. The boy cried out in pain as the man regained his bearings and started attempting to pull the knife out. The knife, however, was not very sharp, and he was having a hard time pulling it back out. Misato took immediate action and grabbed the man's free arm, twisting it and eliciting a scream from the man. The man immediately took his attention away from the knife and turned it to the woman currently causing him pain. Before he could attack her again, Misato had kneed him in the stomach, effectively knocking the wind out of him.  
  
The man fell to the ground panting for breath. Misato was an officer in the military however, and she knew something: When fighting an enemy, you must always fight until the enemy is no longer capable of fighting. The enemy will take any chance it receives to attack you unless it is incapable of fighting. Surrender is for the naïve. Working off this knowledge, Misato kicked the man in the face, sending his head slamming back into the wall he had come to lean up against. She figured he would not die, but he would be unconscious. For now, she had to deal with the boy.  
  
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The pain was unbearable; it was as if someone was constantly stabbing all the wrong places with acupuncture needles. Luckily for him, he had yet to open his eyes and see the blood. It was partly stopped from the knife still lodged in his arm, but it was still flowing at a fairly generous rate. He barely registered the sirens of the police cars and ambulance as they came rushing to save him. He was already drifting off as the EMT pumped the anesthetics in him. He opened his eyes for a brief moment, but what he saw would be burned in his mind forever. The most beautiful violet eyes he had ever seen.  
  
'I didn't know they came that color.' He mused as he was placed on the stretcher.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Misato paced back and forth in the emergency room. It felt kind of strange; she didn't even really know the boy, it wouldn't changer her life much if he did die. The only reason she really needed him to live was because she needed to thank him. The problem was; how was she supposed to greet him when he did wake up? No one knew his name, he had no identifying papers on him, and he fit no descriptions of any missing children. Judging by his clothes he was probably homeless. He wasn't terribly clean either. Because of this, the only greeting Misato could offer was, "Hey John Doe number 309! How're you today?"  
  
Misato finally surrendered to her tired legs and slumped down in a chair. Putting her head in her hands she felt frustratingly helpless.  
  
"A kid with that kinda' guts deserves more than this."  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Shinji woke up feeling that terrible dizzy pain that always resides in an indistinguishable location on your head. That pain that Misato felt every morning, though for a different reason. Shinji was suffering from his first "hangover" although this one was the side-effect of the anesthetics as opposed to liquor. Not knowing what to do about this phantom pain, Shinji took the instinctive reaction which was to grab his head and attempt to shake the pain out. Of course he found this just induced more pain as his arm was still healing from the knife wound. Two strong arms grabbed his wrists and slowly brought them back down to his sides.  
  
"Hey there kid, don't try to kill yourself just yet. I have to thank you first!"  
  
Shinji turned to look at the woman who was holding on to his wrists. He gave her a questioning look, and then promptly threw up all over his bed. The woman quickly withdrew her hands and hit the call button, signaling that a nurse was needed.  
  
"It's ok kid that can happen sometimes."  
  
Three nurses entered the room. Two nurses carried Shinji out of the room to where the bath was, while one cleaned up his bed.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
About 30 minutes later Shinji was back in his bed, still feeling sick, but recovering a bit.  
  
"So what's your name? I can't keep calling you kid now can I?"  
  
"Shinji." He said quietly in return.  
  
"Got a last name"  
  
At this question Shinji just stared off into the distance, a blank look taking his features.  
  
"Well do you?"  
  
"No." It was barely a whisper, but for that fact it carried all the more emotion. It was a sad and bitter tone, one that clearly gave away the statements untruthfulness.  
  
"It doesn't matter; I'm not big into formalities anyways." Misato chuckled. She was acting confident, but underneath she was nervous as hell. What did one say to someone who had saved their life?  
  
"Well for starters, thanks, for saving my life." It seemed like the most obvious thing to say, but that in itself made the statement all the less meaningful.  
  
At first Shinji gave her a questioning look; he had temporarily forgotten what had happened the night before. After a few moments however, there was a visible change in his features. The light of understanding moving across his face, changing his expression as it passed.  
  
"It, it was nothing." He said.  
  
"I think it was a lot, you're probably the only person I know who would take a knife for a complete stranger."  
  
"I'm sure that's not true. I'm not all that great. . ."  
  
"I think you are. It's almost embarrassing that a young boy would come and save MY life."  
  
"S-sorry."  
  
"Why?"  
  
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AUTHOR'S NOTES  
  
Alright! That's the re-write of Switch-blade chapter one. I hope that is a more satisfactory plot than the previous one. The reason I decided to do this re-write, is because I definitely agreed with a lot of what Worldmage said. The Shinji is a hero cliché is definitely done too often, and kina' makes me sick to my stomach to read. In fact, when I read this chapter again, I felt like throwing up.  
  
I'm much more satisfied with it now, and hope that you guys are too. Sorry for anyone that like the story how it was before, but I really don't feel like continuing it.  
  
Sincerely, LiquidSilver 


End file.
